


That Which Ultimately Remains

by mastrechef



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Founding of Konoha, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Senju Hashirama is a dreamer, Senju Tobirama and Uzumaki Mito are the only sensible ones, Senju Tobirama is also a workaholic, Senju Touka is violent, Uchiha Madara Has Issues, Uchiha Madara is a little ball of rage, because as much as I love him he's still dead, mostly referring to Izuna, people really need to learn how to talk, the bane of existence that is paperwork, will tag as I go, xover but it's a secret for now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28290900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mastrechef/pseuds/mastrechef
Summary: A tentative peace has been reached, and Hashirama's dream village is finally coming together. But not everything is going so well. The rift between Madara and the rest of the world widens as he slips further into his grief, old ghosts stalk Tobirama's thoughts, and in the shadows other forces are at work stirring up trouble.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama & Senju Tobirama, Senju Tobirama & Uchiha Madara
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays everyone! In the spirit of giving, I thought I would finally post the first chapter of my newest work. Enjoy!

_“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”_

_\--Seneca_

“We are at peace now, and I know that you have not been the most on board with that, but the least you could do is _try_ to make it work.” Hashirama’s earnestness shone through in his voice as he pleaded with his brother. Not an unusual thing since it was _Hashirama,_ who never gave less than 110% to something he was passionate about, who clung to his dream of true peace with desperate fingers and an unbreakable determination, and who never seemed to recognize that same level of commitment in anyone not as emotionally expressive as himself.

Hashirama, who once again, in what should have been a simple argument, one that they’d even had on more than one occasion, managed to unintentionally hit a sore spot.

 _How have we lived side by side for so long and you still don’t know me?_ Tobirama wanted to ask, yet the words stuck in his throat. He knew why his brother had such a skewed opinion of him. It didn’t make the pointed remarks hurt any less. Nor did it soothe the slight bit of resentment over the fact that Hashirama’s words all too often colored other people’s opinion of him. (How staunch people were in their belief that the White Demon was not human, how justified when his own brother called him cold and distant.) The younger brother may not have been the social butterfly that his anija was, but life got very lonely when the only people who did more than tolerate your presence out of necessity were your brother and closest cousin.

At least Mito would soon be joining them to prepare for the wedding. She and Tobirama had gotten along well during his brief stay in Whirlpool to learn fuinjutsu from the Uzumaki. Her sensibility would be a nice reprieve from the skittish and fearful treatment of the Uchiha and even the other Senju.

“Anija,” said Tobirama evenly, not revealing an ounce of his inner turmoil, “I have remained perfectly professional. How Madara chooses to behave is not my responsibility. This is a two way street; you cannot force us to get along when one party refuses to reciprocate the effort.” The sad, disappointed eyes Hashirama aimed his way and the judgment that no doubt lingered there were resolutely ignored. He would not get guilted into acting against his nature for no net gain. Even if he desired anything of the sort, any overtures of reconciliation, or heaven forbid friendship, on his part were liable to further rouse Madara’s ire. That in turn would upset Hashirama more after being given false hope that his best friend and little brother might finally see eye to eye.

A laughable notion when a certain Izuna-shaped void lay between them.

“Now if that’s all, I have work to get back to, and so do you. No slacking off just because most of the village infrastructure has been completed. I know for a fact that you have yet to look over the drafted trade agreements with the Tanaka and,” he tapped the files he had dumped on Hashirama’s desk before the argument started, “you need to read through the dossier for this afternoon’s meetings.” His piece said, Tobirama spun on his heel and marched back to his own office before his brother had the chance to whine in distress at him. Already he had lost too much productivity time that otherwise would have been spent ironing out a ranking system for the village’s combined shinobi forces, or a proposed curriculum for an academy, or any number of minutiae that had fallen to him to work out. For certainly neither Hashirama nor Madara had put any thought into the logistics of building a village when they dreamed this idea up. Or even basic urban planning.

Tobirama turned down another hallway and entered a small, mostly barren room. The flooring, walls, and ceiling were all smooth, seamless wood typical of Mokuton formed structures. The only furnishings were the large desk, also wood, and matching chair. Actually, the desk was quite a lovely thing crafted from a beautiful maple wood, with drawers on either side lined with fragrant cedar and hand carved vine detailing along the trim. (If there was one thing that Hashirama took pride in, it was his proficiency in using his Mokuton for mundane purposes.) More importantly, the room was quiet and well lit through the morning hours by the east-facing window.

As soon as he shut himself into his office, Tobirama sank down into his chair with a heavy sigh. A glance at the paperwork piling high on his desk had him cradling his head and shutting his eyes against the budding migraine. With as much work as he had on his plate, he dearly wished he could be in more than one place simultaneously. And if he could only get a few consecutive hours to himself he might be able to devise a way to do just that. He had an idea for a new jutsu--clones with substantial forms, capable of independent thought and able to take action without direct input from the user. But he had no time for personal projects unless he forwent sleep altogether; as it was he pulled more all-nighters than was healthy. It was bad enough when he dealt with the village layout, power grid, and plumbing almost single-handedly, and for those he'd at least had rudimentary blueprints drawn up the moment peace talks were on the table, refined over the course of negotiations. Since then the workload has only increased exponentially.

Unfortunate that there was no one he trusted to delegate some of these tasks to. Hashirama, as the de facto leader, had his hands full with negotiations with other shinobi clans he hoped would join as well as civilian tradesmen. Touka preferred action and would not hesitate to beat his ass into the training grounds for trying to dump paperwork on her. The Sarutobi and Shimura clans were too newly joined for Tobirama to have interacted much with them, much less have a clear understanding of who would be suited to doing what. By all rights _Madara_ should have been helping, however the man was too lost in his grief and anger to be of much use. As accustomed as Tobirama was to picking up the slack it would never not be frustrating.

Heaving one last sigh, Tobirama reached for the nearest scroll and got to work. Tempting as it was to finish his plans for the academy, of higher priority was writing the village charter. It was a matter of time until Hashirama talked the Akimichi, Nara, and Yamanaka into joining, and perhaps even the Hyuga and Hatake. If this dream of peaceful coexistence was to be realized and actually last, they needed more than Hashirama’s goodwill and optimism to hold everything together. They needed a unifying set of principles that all of the disparate clans could hold to. After that, then they could see about establishing an official system of governance. A system that would guard against corruption and abuse of power, that would prevent total authority from being given to a singular individual.

That was a headache for another day.

* * *

Life moved ever onward in a blur of activity. Tobirama continued working himself to the bone getting the still unnamed village into something resembling working order. It felt like drowning in legislation became his new state of being, and he surfaced only to assist Ayane, the Senju clan’s head medic, with preparations for the upcoming hospital or to meet with representatives from other shinobi clans. Interspersed throughout were the occasional shouting match with Madara when he got fed up with the man’s antagonistic attitude and his temper got the better of him. (Though the Uchiha clan head rarely deigned to suffer his presence. Or anyone else's for that matter.)

A basic missions desk was now up and running to facilitate the requests flooding in as word of the village spread. For the time being, the clans still operated mostly separately, any unspecified missions divided up between the four of them. After shameless bribery of homemade sweets and a standing invitation to spar, Touka agreed to handle the distribution of Senju missions; she knew as well as Tobirama did the capabilities of each of their active shinobi. Sarutobi Sasuke and Shimura Masanari each came forward to do the same for their respective clans. The Uchiha side of things were left in the hands of Uchiha Hikaku, who had taken it upon himself to step into the void created by Madara’s self-isolation. Interestingly enough, he also seemed to be the only Uchiha willing to look past his prejudice towards the White Demon and work with him in a professional setting. Tobirama was admittedly curious, but willing to let things lie.

The Tanaka trade agreement went through, and the civilian farmers partnered closely with the agriculturally inclined Senju to provide for the village in exchange for protection and steady business. There would be no worries over food stores running dry when taking into account the Senju affinity for plants. While Mokuton might be exceedingly rare, there were several in their clan adept at encouraging healthy growth in pre-existing plants and ensuring crops remained bountiful. It would be even more of a non-issue if, or rather when, the Akimichi joined given their renown in anything relating to cuisine.

Having offloaded even some small portion of the work, Tobirama managed to find some time for himself again. Missions were running smoothly for the most part (although upon seeing the atrocious state of some of the missions reports he did have to throw together some regulations and a comprehensive filing system), and he had finished drafting a bunch of stuff that couldn’t be ratified until a council of sorts was put together. As nothing else needed his immediate attention, he took a much needed break and retreated to his lab.

His lab was located outside the Senju clan compound, at the outskirts of the village. An extra precaution in case any of his experiments prove dangerous enough that his other safety protocols fail. A brush of chakra against the seals carved around the door had the wards opening up and allowing him through. Within was a single large room dominated by a long central table littered with delicate glass instruments. Cabinets and bookshelves full to bursting lined the walls; one of the bookshelves was taken up entirely by his own journals, notes on everything from human anatomy to the history of architecture to the mechanics of space-time. A trapdoor in the floor led down to a seal reinforced room below specifically designed for testing new jutsu.

In one corner not immediately visible from the doorway was something much more personal. The wall was covered with sketches: serene landscapes and intricate renderings of a variety of plants fought for space with playful snapshots of four brothers, memories captured and preserved in loving detail. And tucked away half behind a drawing of a picturesque garden of akaibara, almost hidden, but worn in a way that spoke of frequent handling, was a sketch of a man with a secretive smile, long hair sweeping across his face to conceal half of it in shadow.

Tobirama beelined for his current research journal, broke out the brushes, and at once began compiling all the scattered ideas and theories he’d come up with for his new variant of clone jutsu. Ink filled up page after page as his thoughts spilled out onto paper and his newest creation began to take shape.

Forming the shape of the clones would be the easy part; he likened it to molding chakra-infused water in the suiton jutsu he was so famous for, only this time it would be pure chakra. Combined with his in-depth knowledge of anatomy it was possible that he could mimic the human body from the bone structure and musculature up, minus the chakra pathways. (Should the Hyuuga ever join, perhaps he could seek their assistance? Hmm, something to come back to at a later date.) The tricky part would be replicating the mind. Standard clones followed set directives or else acted as puppets, while these were meant to copy the thought patterns of the original. To some extent chakra was representative of one’s personality, so the idea was to rely on the uniqueness of chakra as well as its connection to the mind and the spirit to duplicate that personality.

And as for the chakra consumption… He paused in thought. That would require thorough testing to determine. Based on how taxing a jutsu like his water dragon was, it was probable this would be of a similar caliber. But to start off, he would begin with a small amount and work upward in increments.

Nimble fingers flashed through a series of hand signs. In a puff of smoke (unwanted, but expected on a first attempt), a clone appeared, shadowy and not fully corporeal. He trickled more chakra into it, watching raptly until he achieved the desired result. By the end of it a light sweat beaded his brow.

That was an enormous drain on chakra reserves, greater than he had expected. It didn’t last long either, dispersing after one solid blow (he’d have to rectify that) and simultaneously hitting him with a disorienting moment of double vision. (An interesting side-effect he’d have to delve into.) Furthermore, he still had to test the success of the mind replication and whether or not the clone would respond appropriately to certain stimuli. After that was determined and any outstanding issues resolved, then came verifying the limitations of the jutsu. Finally, once he was more familiar with manipulating his chakra in such a manner, he could likely pare it down to one hand seal for ease of use.

Such was the exhaustive process of refining a brand new jutsu. But it was something Tobirama took to with gusto, and so he settled in for a long night of experimentation. This is what he lived for. (And if a tiny voice in the back of his mind whispered that this wasn’t enough, that there was something missing in his life, well, that was his business.)

* * *

_“You promised me.”_

_“I know I did. I haven’t forgotten.”_

_“Then why did you agree to this?”_

_“I didn’t have much choice.”_

_“There’s always a choice.”_

_“Doesn’t mean they’re good choices.”_

_“...”_

_“Give me time. I’ll make this right somehow.”_

_“Yeah, you will. Otherwise I’ll never forgive you.”_


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (soon-to-be) New Years! Have another chapter. For anyone reading Say What You Want, I promise I'll try to get the next chapter of that up soon.

_ “The man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.” _

_ \--Confucius _

Finally the day came for Mito’s arrival, and right from the getgo it was gearing up to be one of  _ those _ kinds of days. Tobirama awoke early from disjointed dreams and a sense of disquiet. This was hardly the first time this had happened; he was a shinobi after all, and that was not a lifestyle conducive to peaceful rest. So as was his routine he stepped into a shower as hot as he could tolerate and let the steaming water relax him. By nature of his strong affinity with suiton, there was little that made him feel more at home than when he was surrounded by water (for all that he’d been too busy of late to indulge in a swim or even the simple pleasure of a long soak).

With some reluctance he finished his shower, toweled off, and tousled his hair dry. It was getting a touch too long for his tastes, falling in his eyes and generally being a nuisance. He’d have to ask Touka to trim it sometime at a more reasonable hour. Looking up at his reflection in the wall mirror, for a second he saw another face in place of his own. Idly he parted his hair to the side so that it swept across his right eye. The resemblance wasn’t that close, just enough to pass it off at first glance, nothing more. It was the coloration more than anything, the combination of stark white hair and wine dark eyes. His bone structure was entirely different, less aristocratic and more vulpine, his angular eyes reminiscent of another man’s entirely. Fingers traced a hauntingly familiar pattern over the unblemished, pale skin of his chest almost of their own accord.

He snorted, shaking his head at his own ridiculousness. Here he was musing over ghosts of the past when he had much more important tasks demanding his attention. Speaking of which--he shifted his focus outward, reaching past the miniature sun that was his brother’s chakra and the roiling pool of magma that was Madara’s, out toward the bright feeling of sunlight-reflected-off-ocean-waves of the Uzumaki party. Still asleep at this early hour aside from the watch, and a few hours out by shinobi standards. Likely he could expect them by midmorning. (And for Mito to be pristine and put together as though she were arriving at the Daimyo’s court and hadn’t just been roughing it in the woods.)

Tobirama dressed quickly in his usual loose fitting blacks, also taking the time to check a storage seal tattooed on the inside of his left forearm for kunai, seal tags, and other assorted tools. The armor and happuri might have been set aside, but some habits were harder to drop. After all, what kind of shinobi would he be if he were not always armed and ready to fight? (A dead one, probably.) Still, it felt strange going without his happuri, not to mention inconvenient now that he didn’t have it to hold back his hair. 

Puffing out a slight huff of mild irritation, he padded over to his kitchen to put some water on to boil. While that was heating, he prepared the teapot and plated up some manju. Contrary to his practical, utilitarian nature he had quite the sweet tooth, something his cousin enjoyed taking advantage of since he made his own confections. Manju happened to be his favorite (although one of these days he was determined to figure out how to make castella cake). He went through the almost meditative process of brewing his tea, then stepped out onto the engawa to enjoy it while looking over his koi pond.

His leisurely morning came to an end all too soon and yet not soon enough. While he quite enjoyed the quiet peace of the early morning, he preferred to keep busy (it was too ingrained a habit at this point). Putting away his dishes, he locked up and took off for the administration building. As usual, he had a truly abhorrent amount of paperwork to look forward to. (If he were given to Hashirama’s brand of melodrama he might swear that the stuff multiplied any time he looked away.)

When Tobirama sensed their guests’ approach, he went to fetch Hashirama. He had to drag his brother from the work he was actually doing for once (probably the nerves getting to him) to ensure that the Senju clan head and heir both were there to welcome the Uzumaki envoy at the village gates. It would hardly be appropriate to greet someone of Mito’s status with anything less.

Walking through the trees past the edge of the constructed zone on their way to the main gate, one could almost forget that there even was a village. They left as much of the forest intact as they could, clearing only what land they needed. Several people had asked (although not Tobirama directly, of course, no, why would that ever be an option?) why he insisted on having the walls and the gate itself so far out, but really it was just good planning. Even if no further clans, shinobi or otherwise, joined the village, future population growth still had to be accounted for. (You would think that by now people would have realized he always had a well thought out reason behind his actions.) And that wasn’t even taking into consideration the space needed for the fifty or so different training grounds that Hashirama swore up and down were absolutely necessary.

At last the party appeared through the trees along what could generously be called the road to the village gates. (It was little more than a cleared footpath that would eventually have to be widened and connected up with the main roads of Fire Country.) The two escorts turned attendants flanked the Uzumaki princess in standard shinobi garb. Mito herself was dressed elegantly in a colorful floral kimono, brilliant red hair pinned up into twin buns with seal tag decorations. A purple rhombus-shaped seal lay in the center of her forehead: her ‘overwhelming strength’ seal. (It was a deceptively simple looking seal, but quite revolutionary. Mito and himself had spoken extensively about chakra storage seals during his time in Whirlpool and he was still blown away by the ingenuity of her creation.) Tucked into her obi was a fan that Tobirama strongly suspected was a tessen, and that she knew how to use it to deadly effect.

The two brothers bowed formally at their approach. Tobirama spoke up first; from the way Hashirama was quivering next to him with giddy energy, once he got started nobody would ever get another word in edgewise. “Mito-hime it is good to see you again. And to your companions as well: welcome.”

Mito returned a gracious smile. (It brought to mind wheat-colored hair and frilly dresses adorned with ribbons that didn’t belong in this time or place.) “Tobirama, we are to be family. There is no need for such formality.”

The corner of his lips twitched upward in the barest of smiles. “Of course, ane-ue.”

Hashirama took that as his queue. “Mito-hime, I am ever so pleased to see you in good health. And may I say you look quite lovely today.” His smile positively radiated sunshine and rainbows on a normal day; this smile was that cranked up to eleven. The very air seemed to glitter around him as he pulled a rose out of nowhere. The only reason Tobirama didn’t stare at him as though he’d grown a second head was that he fully expected this type of response from his ridiculous idiot of a brother. At least Mito found it charming rather than offputting.

The elder Senju offered to provide a tour, linking arms with Mito when she accepted. Tobirama hung back with the escorts--siblings Keiko and Keigo--to give Hashirama and Mito some semblance of privacy. There would be plenty of time for him to catch up with Mito later. They checked out everything from the clan compounds to the hospital, from the bathhouse to administration, and even Hashirama’s personal garden that people had not-so-jokingly dubbed ‘The Forest of Death.’ (Honestly, Tobirama had to applaud his brother’s restraint in limiting his more experimental usage of Mokuton to one area.) They eventually ended up on the clifftop that backed the administration building. It provided quite the view of the surrounding land, especially of the gleaming blue band of the Naka River and its tributary that cut through the village proper. (It was also ideal for building hidden spaces: emergency hideouts or a base for covert operations perhaps.)

Tobirama took a seat nearby while the trio of Uzumaki took in the sights and Hashirama nattered on proudly. In his opinion, Uzushio was much more impressive, but he supposed it was a different experience for them, whom had lived most of their lives on a tiny island made remote by the vicious currents that gave Whirlpool its name.

“It looks like a sea of trees from up here,” Mito said, eyes gleaming with wonder. “You can hardly even make out the village; it’s all hidden by the leaves.”

“A village hidden in the leaves, huh,” Tobirama hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps that should be its name. It is certainly a far-cry better than anija’s insistence on calling it ‘The Village.’”

Hashirama flailed comically, sporting an overdramatic pout. “What’s wrong with naming it ‘The Village’?”

“Really, anija, that fact that you even have to ask--” He was cut off as Hashirama proceeded to tackle him the rest of the way to the ground. “Anija,” he protested, shoving at the oversized lump, which only got him further entangled in long limbs. “Anija, get off me, you man-child.”

“Tobi, why are you so mean to your big brother?” Hashirama wailed.

Shoving more forcefully proved useless; trying to dislodge his tall tree of a brother was like wrestling with an unusually large and very determined octopus. Tobirama gave up and let Hashirama do as he pleased. He would not resort to using Hiraishin to get away (that would be undignified), so he simply rolled his eyes at his brother’s absurdity even as Mito’s laughter rang like bells through the air. (And somehow it was like coming home.)

* * *

Whilst the Uzumaki were settling into the guest wing of Hashirama’s house, Tobirama commandeered the kitchen to prepare a welcoming feast. Hashirama watched from well out of meddling distance. He wasn’t a bad cook, but had a terrible habit of getting distracted partway through and consequently ruining a meal beyond all repair. All the while they made idle conversation that took a sharp turn for the more serious when the topic of naming an official leader for the village came up.

“I want to appoint Madara,” Hashirama said unexpectedly.

Tobirama whirled on him, agast. “Are you out of your mind? If you appoint him solely on your own authority, without regard to public opinion, you are setting a dangerous precedent. All the hard work put in to get this village together would be for nothing.”

Hashirama wilted. “But I think it would be good for him. It would give him something to focus on.” So Hashirama wasn’t  _ completely _ oblivious to his friend’s plight, but whether or not he realized just how bad off Madara was remained to be seen.

“We need to elect a leader,” Tobirama insisted even as he went back to tending the fish he was searing. An election was the most sensible course of action, and it would give everyone a chance to contribute, to feel like their opinion mattered. Now he just needed to convince his brother to see reason. “I won’t object to you putting up Madara’s name for consideration, but it’s unlikely he would win a popular vote. Surely you know that he has been losing the support of his own clan.”

“You give too much credence to idle gossip,” was Hashirama’s reply. As though the number of dissenters was only a small minority when in reality all but a few had given up on their illustrious leader. As though it wasn’t a shinobi’s  _ job _ to pick apart rumors and determine the truth in them.

Tobirama side-eyed Hashirama while he checked on the rice. “And you don’t give enough. That the whispers are loud enough for  _ me _ to catch wind says enough about the severity of the situation.” Too many of the Uchiha still saw him as the Enemy. They would not willingly expose weakness in his presence.

His brother finally sighed and seemed to age before his eyes as he said, “I’m not blind to their struggles. I have seen how the Uchiha are excluded and held at arm's length. The Senju have the farms to look after, and Masanari has taken it upon himself to coordinate patrols with the Sarutobi and Shimura. Other than foreign relations, you handle the bulk of everything else.” Hashirama absently twirled a long strand of his silken hair around his fingers. “The Uchiha are known for their smiths, yet I’ve seen no sign of forges. Aside from missions and any internal clan duties, they have no jobs, and they hardly interact with the other clans.”

When he was actually paying attention, Hashirama was far more observant than you would expect from someone as ditzy as he seemed. There was a reason Tobirama trusted him to handle politicking without supervision, and it wasn’t because Hashirama was the more personable one and generally likeable. He began dishing up the food to give himself time to think of a suitable response. Once that was done, his hands busied themselves with preparing tea. “I think you know that the Uchiha didn’t agree to this out of a genuine desire to put past ills behind us,” he reminded. “They were desperate, and even now they are waiting for the tides to turn against them. You must give them a reason to believe.” In what he didn’t say, but Hashirama seemed to understand anyway.

The unshakable determination that Hashirama was known for straightened his spine. “My dream of peace may have been realized, but it’s not perfect and may never be perfect. I know better than to believe in absolutes. All I can do is try and hope for the best. But I’m sure that someday soon the Senju and Uchiha can come to see each other as friends.” Tobirama had no doubt that one way or another he would make it so. It was a good thing that Hashirama was so dedicated to peace and improving the lives of everyone around him, because for all his wishy-washy words about trying his best, he could out-stubborn a bull any day.

* * *

_ “I’m telling you, he’s up to something. They both are.” _

_ “Speculation without proof does us no good.” _

_ “Are you willing to risk it?”  _

_ “I think you mean are  _ you _ willing to risk it.” _

_ “Right, right. That still doesn’t help me.” _

_ “Obviously, you need to get proof.” _

_ “Proof. Yes. Then I can…” _

_ “Exactly.” _

**Author's Note:**

> So instead of dealing with my other WIPs my brain, as it is wont to do, started spitting out random bits of dialogue with no context. Now, I've wanted to write something with Tobirama for a while, but never had any concrete story ideas. Then this happened, and I started poking at it hoping for plot to magically appear, and boy did it ever. This is technically a crossover--and a bizarre one at that since I gravitate towards that sort of thing--however it's not super relevant in the beginning so I'll leave it a mystery for now. There are some hints in this first chapter, but they're vague in that even if you recognize them for what they are, they could refer to any one of a bunch of interrelated things.
> 
> The next couple of chapters are in various stages of completion, so hopefully I'll get those up pretty soon. Also, for someone with knowledge of only really basic kanji, I spent way too much time picking out names for original characters who only receive a brief mention (for now at least).


End file.
